Cravings
by paulatheprokaryote
Summary: Astoria is having an oddly specific craving. Draco is having an oddly muggle meltdown. Awful muggles and their pleasantness. For TreacleTart's Drapple (and maybe a little bit Scrapple) Challenge


Draco just wanted to go back to sleep. Every fiber of his being was crying out for his mattress. The warm blankets he snuggled under, the smell of laundry detergent that lulled him into his comfort, and the way his heart felt holding Astoria as her snores echoed across the room. That was infinitely better than staggering groggily in the middle of a bustling muggle farmers' market at the crack of dawn, eyes teetering open and closed in a haze of exhaustion.

He idly wondered if dawn had actually cracked or if these muggles weren't just overly enthusiastic about life. Awful muggles and their pleasantness.

He stumbled from booth to booth, desperate to find Astoria's bloody apple juice that just had to be organic. Oh, and it couldn't be from regular apples. No, it had to be green apples. Not the regular Granny Smith variety either. That would be too simple. She was craving organic, freshly squeezed Green Dragon apple juice at 5:45 in the morning.

If he had known that pregnant Astoria would be a tyrant, a monstrous cavern of absurdly specific cravings, he'd have reconsidered the child entirely. He would love the baby, there's no doubt, but he would not love the lifestyle change. There was a beautiful time in his life where the most that Astoria demanded from him was breakfast in the mornings and a weekly stipend to blow at the upscale boutiques of Diagon Alley.

"Hello, do you by any chance sell organic, freshly squeezed Green Dragon Apple juice?" He asked a young girl, maybe 18, with nose piercings and cheap tattoos lacing her arms.

"I don't think you could find that variety anywhere in the country." The girl told him with her arms crossed. He thanked her with angry muttering and continued the hunt. They must be in this country for Astoria to know what in the world they were. She wasn't exactly a world traveler.

"Hello, do you happen to sell organic Green Dragon apples? I'll juice the damn things myself if I have to." He grumbled at the next vendor, an old muggle man with hair so flaming he could easily be a Weasley. The muggle man did not have Green Dragon apples, much to Draco's despair. Nor did he appreciate being sworn at by the platinum haired wizard if the swats Draco received from the man's walking cane were any thing to go by.

"YOU!" He pointed at a middle aged woman standing next to a variety of apples in her booth. "TELL ME YOU HAVE GREEN DRAGON APPLES! I don't even care if they're organic! Astoria will never know!" He snickered the last bit somewhat madly, causing the woman to look ever so frightened, shaking her head frantically.

"Bloody apples. Had to be Dragon Apples. They don't even taste like apples! They taste like pears!" He muttered in aggravation, pushing by vendors that didn't have any apples at all in their booths. They were a waste of time.

"Did you say you were looking for Dragon Apples?" A woman much older than his mother put a hand on his shoulder, stopping his incessant muttering. Instinctively he pulled the muggle's hand off his shoulder. These muggles have no boundaries!

"I did!" Draco answered excitedly once his sleep deprived brain processed her words.

"Why, I have a few in my booth if you'd like." She pointed in the direction of a row of booths he'd yet to examine.

"Oh thank Merlin–I mean–Uh–Thank goodness." Draco sputtered, trying to keep his cool. Why didn't wizards have proper farmers' markets so he didn't have to venture into this mundane world?

"Right this way." She led him to a small, rickety looking booth that he probably wouldn't have stopped at to begin with.

"Is there any chance you could juice them?" Draco asked desperately. He didn't have the strength to do the juicing without magic and he was sure that Astoria would somehow be able to taste the difference.

"I've already got a few bottles juiced. How much do you need?" She asked politely.

"How much do you have?" Draco asked desperately. He'd buy every damn bottle if it meant not having to wake up again.

With a thud she hauled two liters worth of the precious apple juice onto the squeaky wooden table, writing up a receipt with large looping letters.

"Will that be all for you?" She asked him, looking up at him with her creased eyes and toothy smile.

"Yes. What do I owe?" Draco asked snippily. If this had all been a few hours later maybe he could afford her the niceties of polite small talk.

He glanced at the receipt she pushed at him. £5. That wasn't nearly as pricey as he had anticipated. He dug through his wallet, realizing his muggle money was lacking. He only had a £50 note left.

"You can keep the change." He told her. Every second waiting for change would be a second he wasn't spending in the comfort of his bed. Besides, he had money to spare and his time was worth more than a few pounds.

"You realize that was a–" The woman called after him.

He had already disappeared though, ready to climb back in his beloved bed for a few more hours.

"Astoria, love, your juice is on the counter!" Draco called out as he sat the jugs on the counter. She no longer liked refrigerated beverages because they somehow made her queasy.

"Astoria?" He called aloud again. His heart began to race. Astoria always answered him with her sing-song voice. Something must be wrong with her. Scenarios instantly danced through his head of marauders attacking her and the baby, of her falling and being seriously hurt, and of her packing her bags and leaving him because of those damn mood swings. Oh god, what if she miscarried. He gripped his wand and sprinted up the stairs.

He pushed the door open to their bedroom, clenching his teeth as the door creaked. Astoria was fast asleep, snoring softly. She had a breakfast burrito in one hand, a smear of salsa on her lips, and her other hand was looped around her belly.

Draco let out a sigh of relief and frustration and crawled back into bed with his wife.


End file.
